Safe
by Ephemeral Lunatic
Summary: She called him often lately, and was quickly running out of legitimate reasons for why. Whenever her recurrent nightmare struck though, she'd use whatever excuse necessary that didn't involve admitting the sheer terror encompassing her body. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Safe**

**Chapter One**

* * *

><p>It was a beautiful autumn morning in New York City. Tree leaves had already begun their gradual change from green to various shades of yellow and red, painting the urban canvas of fall weather. When he awoke to his alarm clock and a chilly bedroom, Richard Castle noted that he'd have to set the thermostat a little higher tonight before heading off to bed again. As much as he loved the season, he hated waking up to a cold room and the shivers. He was more of a warm and cozy kind of guy.<p>

Castle hadn't gotten nearly as much sleep as he'd like to the previous night, or more accurately, this morning. He had spent the bulk of his evening at the 12th late into the night wrapping up a murder investigation with Beckett and the boys. The case was pretty cut and dry this time around. Nothing special and an easy close: fight between two men, mid-20's, over a mutual female companion. Vic was struck in the head with a bar stool with enough blunt force trauma to be fatal. Suspect fled the scene and vic's girlfriend, the mutual companion, found him three hours later upon arriving home. Suspect was ID'd an hour later in SoHo as a sobbing, drunken mess on the street corner. He was an honest, guilt-ridden drunk and laid everything out on the table for them.

Regardless of the ease of the case, Gates was adamant about getting a case-closed same day, and although Castle could have easily headed home earlier, and Beckett had even suggested he do so, he stuck around. When she had asked him why, he replied, "Why not?" with his usual carefree smile, and she smiled back at him, nodding as if to say, "Okay then." It was just after three in the morning when he made it back to his loft, and close to four-thirty the last time he had remembered looking at his clock before nodding off to sleep.

The alarm clock sounded at eight, and he smashed the snooze button down with a heavy hand after about twenty seconds of it's incessant beeping. His body trembled a bit at the cool air drifting about him, and he felt an ache in his limbs from fatigue. Seven minutes quickly passed after hitting the snooze button and the alarm turned back on again. Rick Castle realized that it was going to be rather difficult to get motivated and out of his bed this morning, especially after he remembered why he had set the alarm in the first place.

Yesterday afternoon, Castle had agreed to accompany his mother the "_First thing in the morning!_" to a fundraiser in order to secure additional funding for her new school. This, of course, was before he got the call from Beckett regarding the body. Martha was thrilled to have her plans materialize and be underway, and honestly, Castle was more than happy to oblige her on this one if it meant getting her out of the house more often. Don't get him wrong, he loves his mother, but she could be a little over the top sometimes - well, most of the time - but it did make him happy seeing how happy she was in recent days. She was truly putting her all into her passion for performing arts.

The snooze alarm went off a second time and again, he slammed a hand down on it, groaning and muttering a curse word into his pillow as he did so. It was only after his cell phone started ringing that he finally dragged his tired body out from under his eight hundred and twenty thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. When he saw Beckett as the name on his iPhone screen, his face lit up with delight. It's not that he was feeling thankful that a murder occurred, but he'd much rather be on another case with his lovely partner than stuck in an auditorium for hours with his mother and her many acquaintances and friends.

"Well good morning, Detective," he said, sitting back down at the foot of his bed and trying not to sound too thrilled.

"Good morning," she replied, noting he sounded a little groggy. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, alarm clock beat you by about fifteen minutes. Let me guess..."

"No, sorry to disappoint you." She interrupted him, knowing all too well what he intended to guess. "No murder today. Well, none that I've been made aware of, at least."

"Huh." He replied, a little disappointed indeed. He made a quick recovery though, "So you were just wishing to start your day off with my sultry voice, is that it? And we've only been apart..." He looked over to the alarm clock he had been abusing for the past fifteen minutes. "...about 5 hours, by my count."

"Trust me, I'm well aware how long it's been. I can barely keep my eyes open right now." She said through a yawn. "And damn, you saw straight through me, Castle. I just can't start my day without you."

"You wound me with your sarcasm. So what's up, if not murder?"

There was a brief pause before she answered him.

"Did you make off with some of my case files last night?"

He pondered a moment before giving his reply. "Uh, can't say I did. That I recall, anyway. After what happened the last time I snooped without your approval I know not to do that again." He chuckled nervously.

"Hmm...I must just be imagining things then." She said, her voice trailing off in a pensive manner.

"Considering the sleepy stupor I left in, I would imagine anything is possible. In any case, I'm flattered that _your _imagination included me."

Beckett didn't have to see him him to know that his words were coupled with a grin. She smiled, too, debating whether to play along or shut him down. She opted for a little bit of both. "What can I say, when it comes to bad behavior, you're usually my prime suspect."

"I do like how you put possession on that, '_My _prime suspect'. Scandalous." His words elicited both an eye roll and a smile from Beckett this time. "Innocent until proven guilty though. I'll have you know, I have been on my best behavior recently. You must have noticed since you don't banish me to the car anymore."

Beckett let out a hearty laugh. "Yeah, well I guess I've learned over the years that it's a wasted effort. You never stay put anyways. But you're right, you've been...better...recently, I suppose."

"Gee, and all this time I thought it was because you found me helpful."

"Speaking of helpful, don't you have a date with your mother this morning?" Castle hesitated to answer at first and she heard him sigh. "I'm guessing that's a 'Yes'?"

"Well, considering the citizens of New York have neglected to commit any murder this morning, it would appear so. Not that I'm wishing murder upon anyone, mind you."

"Wow, Castle. You make it sound like such a dire situation. It can't possibly be that bad, could it? At least you still have your mother to spend time with. "

She realized how it sounded directly after it left her lips, but she didn't mean it the harsh way it came out. Regardless, it still struck a chord with Castle. Here he was complaining about spending time with his mother, knowing how much pain Kate was still in with regards to her mother's case. The case he has been secretly investigating for her sake. The case keeping him from acting on his feelings for her. What she would give to spend even a chaotic day at a fundraiser with her mother, he wondered.

"You're right, I've no right to complain." He replied, and Beckett immediately picked up on the seriousness his tone had shifted to. She didn't mean to make him feel bad. Just as she attempted to soften the blow, he was already changing the subject to end the call. "I should probably get ready to go. I need coffee and lots of it to get through today. Long night."

"Sure was." She paused when she heard him yawn, his lips smacking together a little bit at the end of it. "Yeah, coffee's probably a good idea. I don't know why you stayed so long last night. All that was left was the paperwork. I could have handled that fine on my own."

"I'm your partner," was all he said in reply.

The same smile crept onto Beckett's face as the one that did when he told her "Why not?" some seven hours ago. She decided to leave it at that. "Good luck with everything today."

"Oh not to worry, I'm sure Mother will make out like a bandit with the crowd she's expecting. It's open to the public, too, so there's sure to be a decent turn out."

"That's good."

"That said, we'd greatly appreciate your support, too, by the way. And by 'we' I mean me, and by 'support' I mean helping me retain some sanity in the process. If you're not busy and all."

"She's not planning on auctioning you off again, is she?" Amused as she was by his anxiousness over the event, her inquiry was a little more serious and concerned than she was wanting to let on, though he didn't seem to notice it.

"That's actually what I'm afraid of." He stammered, thinking back on the previous fiasco 2 years ago. The dread in his voice made Beckett burst into laughter in his ear. "On second thought, don't come. Last time was embarrassing enough as it is. You'll just throw me under the bus again."

Beckett bit her lip and smiled at the memory. Back then she could hardly stand his playboy demeanor and watching him squirm as his mother auctioned him off to the highest bidder was quite enjoyable in a dark, twisted sort of way. Present day Beckett, however, wasn't content in the least bit at the idea of random women bidding on the man she'd fallen in love with. Not that she'd let him know that.

"Oh, come on, Castle. Relax, I'm sure Martha has other ideas in store."

"I hope so." He sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. He could hear his mother upstairs chanting 'Fund-raise-rrrr~' and "Oh~ What-to-wear~" in a sing-song voice as she went about her morning ritual with Alexis no doubt helping her on fashion choices for the event. He knew it was time he got on the ball as well. "I better get going. The girls are on the move and one of 'em's singing."

"Haha, okay then."

"Let me know if you can't find those files and I'll have a look around here again when I get back home."

"It's all right. I'm sure they're around some place. Have fun at the fundraiser."

"I'll make a conscious effort to try." He replied, making her laugh once more before they hung up.

When the phone call ended, Castle headed to the kitchen for some much needed caffeine then went upstairs to greet his girls as they prepared for the big event. Beckett, on the other hand, set her phone down beside her pillow and crawled back under the sheets of her bed with a smile. There weren't any missing case files. She wasn't even on duty today. She was finding herself making more and more excuses to call him lately, and in recent days was running out of legitimate reasons for why, but when she was startled awake by another of her recurrent nightmares this morning, her reaction was to call Castle, using whatever excuse came to mind first that didn't involve admitting the sheer terror encompassing her body.

Those three months after the shooting without Rick Castle in her life tore her apart. When she woke up from surgery to Josh at her side, and "I love you, Kate" as her most recent memory, she didn't know what to do or how to cope. She lied and pushed him away, but she was by no means happy or content with that decision. He was right, that evening in her apartment, after he tried unsuccessfully to get her to drop her mother's case and she kicked him out - she was afraid. She needed time to think, time to process, time to recover, and most of all, time to sort through all of her feelings. Days turned to weeks and weeks to months. Her shooting was life altering, and for so many reasons.

She dreamt of that day often. Dream? No, it was more like a nightmare. The symptoms she experienced due to her PTSD were gradually letting up with time, or in the very least becoming more manageable, but the nightmares still persisted. At work, she had the support of her team to have her back during the times of despair. She hid it the best she could, but they still knew it was there, though they didn't make it a point to point it out. Castle had become her rock in moments of vulnerability, whether it was offering words of encouragement or silently lending an ear when she vented her frustrations. It was only when she was alone that her mind and thoughts got the better of her. Kate Beckett was a strong woman but she was still human.

Sometimes she wondered if keeping her memories a secret from him was the root of the issue with her recurrent nightmares. It was always the same scene replaying in her head just as clear and vivid as she had lived it. The sound of the gunshot, mere seconds before being tackled to the ground. Going into shock, crippled and immobilized on the grass of the cemetery by her injury. She had never been so scared in her life. But then there was Castle, right there with her, cradling her in his arms, whispering softly to her, begging her not to leave him and admitting he loved her - suddenly the fear that had washed over her was gone and instead she felt so safe.

Beckett had smiled as she blacked out that day, content to leave everything in his hands. He wasn't the most responsible, mature man in the world, but she trusted him with every fiber of her being and he always comes through when it counts. She wasn't delirious in her fade to black - He said loved her. She knew he would take care of her, as he did just now over the phone, even though he wasn't aware of it at the time. Hearing his voice on the other end of the line, even if he was still half asleep, overly flirtatious or immature and silly, it brought back those feelings of safety and ease. The anxiety she felt waking up from that nightmare subsided all thanks to him.

She felt horrible for continuing to lie to him this way and honestly, today was the first time she had ever used a blatant lie as an excuse to call and she felt bad for feeling thankful that he went for it, unlikely a tale as it had been. He'd never believe her when she said it but yes, that sultry voice was just the remedy for the anxiety welling within her. She needed to feel the safety and warmth it evoked within her. It was selfish of her, she knew, and it wasn't something she was proud of, but she resigned herself all those months ago to the fact that she couldn't open up to him just yet. She was afraid, and judging by how he continued to keep his confession to himself all this time, she knew that he was afraid, too. Kate Beckett needed to become stronger, mentally and emotionally, and she vowed that when she did, she'd risk that heart of hers and dive right in.

Until that time came, the phone calls and extra time spent together at work would suffice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Safe**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

><p>Kate Beckett was used to being woken up by phone calls. Whenever a body dropped in the jurisdiction of the 12th Precinct, she was the first detective to be notified, regardless of the time of day or night. She'd be lying if she said it didn't bother her - it always did - but it was a part of the job that she had come to accept with time. Murders aren't like clock work; they don't run on a nine to five schedule. In some cases there may br warning signs leading up to a decision to commit the crime, but when it comes down to it, you just never know when that call is going to come in with the dreadful news. Murder was mostly unpredictable, and with time, she came to accept that. She accepted the part of her job that woke her early in the morning or late at night, the call that interrupted her grocery shopping trip, movie at the theater, or visit with friends. After all these years in homicide, she had just plain gotten used to it.<p>

What she couldn't get used to, even after five months of experiencing them, were the nightmares that shook her from her sleep nearly every night. She was at least thankful for the fact that most nights were less severe than others. On such a mild day, she'd only be startled awake; an unpleasant feeling, but more irritating than anything. There were no lingering, lasting effects to keep her from dropping her head back on the pillow and dozing off again or continuing on with the rest of her day. On a bad day, however, she woke up screaming in a cold sweat, grabbing at her flesh where only the scar of the wound remained, feeling her heart pounding against her chest and trying desperately to catch her breath. Panic attacks, her therapist had told her weeks ago, just another symptom manifesting itself from the PTSD she'd come to develop after the shooting.

Today had unfortunately been another one of those particularly bad days. Not only did she shriek loud enough this morning to alarm a neighbor into knocking on her door (which resulted in a second, rather awkward shout of apology and reassurance that she was fine) she had even bolted out of bed and grabbed her gun. On some subconscious level she was hoping that the feeling of being armed with the Glock 19 would somehow persuade herself that she was protected, and that the nightmare was just that: another horrible nightmare. But it didn't ease her mind at all. The flashbacks recalled such distinct memories of the warm, red vital fluids seeping through her uniform, and the recollection both seared her flesh and ran a chill through her body at the same time. Even with gun in-hand, an unscathed body and empty apartment, she was still quivering with fear. Kate was beginning to hate not only the sniper, but even herself for becoming so weak and fragile in the aftermath of her shooting.

What she would give for it to be one of those dreaded phone calls waking her up instead of that damn nightmare again.

She must have spent an entire hour trembling in bed, trying to shake off her increasing anxiety and debating whether or not to call her therapist before finally grabbing her cell phone and thumbing through the contact list. When she passed by Castle's name, she stopped, her finger lingering there above his name for a moment. A therapist he was not, though he did try to psychoanalyze her now and then, but a source of comfort and distraction from her thoughts? Yeah, he definitely fell into that category lately. Only there was one problem: Today, she was off duty. Today she didn't have a valid reason to call him or have him meet her at the 12th, and he had plans with his mother anyway. What could she possibly say to him even if she called?

"Somehow _'Castle, I had a bad dream'_' just doesn't have any merit in it." she muttered aloud, placing her palm to her face, running the tips of her fingers up and down the length of her forehead. God she felt pathetic. "You're thirty-one, Kate. Not three."

Making him even more aware of her recent vulnerability was the last thing she wanted. It made her uncomfortable the way he seemed to be walking on eggshells and yet was still so intent on being immersed in her every thought, feeling and action. He tried to hide it, but she knew she worried him so much these days.

After a brief pause, she continued through the list again, finally coming to the number she sought to call in the first place and yet, once again, she hesitated. Hell, the whole process was one huge hesitation. All she had to do was start typing in letters for his name to pop up and yet she still chose to peruse the list in it's entirety. She chose to come across Castle, her dad, and the names of all the other people she knew and loved who would be more than willing to lend an ear and and talk her down, make her feel secure again. What a vicious cycle, she thought, Castle trying in vain to hide his worry for her, all the while she hid her fears, keeping the demons to herself and causing the necessity for worry in the first place.

Her thumb hovered above the call button and she had second thoughts. What could he, her therapist, do for her? It was always the same advice: telling her in that irritatingly calm voice of his to breathe deeply, make a cup of tea, read a book, turn on some soft music - to simply use coping strategies until the anxiety passed. A lot of good that reiteration would do her right now when she already tried it an hour ago and neither option proved calming to her. In the very least, the chamomile tea managed to stave off her stress-induced cotton mouth.

Burying her face in her shaky hands in frustration, suddenly _'Castle, I had a bad dream' _ was starting to have a bit more merit in it after all, even if it took a rather significant hit to her pride to admit it.

The more she thought about it though, did she really even _need _a reason to call him? They weren't just partners, they were friends, too. Friends can just randomly call to say, _'What's up?' _or _'How's it going?'_, right?

Thumbing through her contact list again, she made her way back to Castle's name, her first digit floating just above the send key again. For all she knew, he might not even answer. He might not be awake, or might already be off preparing for his mother's fundraiser. Then what? Back to coping strategies? Back to, "Hey Doc, I'm a mess again" ?

To hell with reasons, she thought, firmly planting her finger down on the key beneath it. She'd figure it the words out once he picked up. If he picked up.

"Please pick up," she pleaded as she brought an unsteady hand with phone to her ear. Three rings later, and _'Well, good morning, Detective'_' finally set her heart at ease.

* * *

><p>Beckett managed to go back to sleep after her call with Castle. That brief conversation with him helped to give her four, blissful, uninterrupted hours of sleep and she made a mental note to repay him for it later, somehow. She didn't even care that it was half past noon when her eyes drowsily focused in on the time on her cell phone that she had fallen asleep with in her hand. Even she deserved an unproductive, lazy day every now and then, right?<p>

As she made her way to the bathroom to freshen up, her cell chimed. Her mouth curled to a smirk as she read the screen. It was a text message from Castle.

_[Was it too arrogant of me to think that I'd be worth more than a $5750 bid?]_

"Maybe a little bit", she mused to herself. Apparently she'd given Martha a bit too much credit earlier this morning, not to mention given Castle false hope. Her cell chimed again.

_[Don't answer that.]_

"Too late," she said with a laugh, reaching for her toothbrush as she did.

_[But seriously, $5750? Three years ago it was $7000!]_

[I'd have paid more...] she tapped in reply. It was passing milliseconds before his reply.

_[WHAT?]_

Another devilish smirk came to her lips as she responded.

[...if you were Connelly or Patterson.]

Rather than a little chime, now her phone was ringing. She was mid-way through washing her face of last night's makeup she neglected to clean off in the wee hours of the morning and clicked on the speakerphone to answer. "Yes, Castle?"

"If that's how you really feel, maybe I _will _base my next book on Esposito, after all."

Kate smiled at the empty threat. "I'm not sure if I should I be insulted or thankful?"

"I'm serious!" He insisted, and when she only laughed in reply added, "Come on, I'm having a pseudo-mid-life crisis here. The least you could do is play along and tell me I haven't depreciated with age."

"You haven't depreciated with age, Castle." A truthful statement from the detective, even if she did say it with her characteristic sarcasm.

"At least say it like you mean it."

"I'll put it in terms you can understand. You're more like-" she pondered a moment, "a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape."

Castle didn't miss a beat. "Red or white?"

"Does it matter?" she asked, cocking her head slightly to the side.

"It does," he affirmed.

"How so?"

"Because you're either implying that you find me spicy and that I've retained my spiciness or that I've become more exotic and therefore more desirable with maturity."

Well, she thought, walked right into that one.

"...my point is - well, _was _until you just ruined it - you become more...approachable? Until the 12 year-old inevitably comes out."

"Oh."

Awkward silence ensued for about thirty seconds, allowing Beckett ample time to finish patting her face dry before he started again.

"So you think I'm _approachable_ like a fine wine. I'm flattered."

" -until the 12 year-old inevitably comes out," she reiterated.

"That's fine, Detective. I can take solace knowing that at least some of the lovely ladies here beg to differ, and with their wallets no less. On that note, I'm afraid I have to get going."

"Your mother planning to put that mug of yours to use some more?"

"Indeed, or I guess you can say she already has. I'm being whisked off by a Miss Marilyn Devereaux in a bit here."

"Marilyn Devereaux?" Beckett questioned, curiosity more than a little piqued. The given name in itself brought to mind a certain late blonde actress from decades past and she cringed at the thought. "Fancy name. Who is she?"

"The winning bidder. Stage actress and acquaintance of Mother's. She's quite charming, really. I was really worried about this auction thing but she's not so bad. Rather significant age gap but if her bid is any indication, I'm guessing she still finds me quite the Châteauneuf-du-Pape, to use your terms."

"Is that so..." She could tell he was trying to bait her, to get a rise out of her, but even so, it was working. All she could think of was the picture of Rick Castle and some middle-aged blonde bimbo of a cougar arm-in-arm at Le Cirque. It made her skin crawl.

"Mhm. Should be an interesting experience. Been a while since I've done the whole fine dining shindig, especially like this."

He took notice of Kate's uncharacteristic lack of a rebuke and grew concerned. When it came to the swordplay she was almost always game. Perhaps he pushed it too far this time.

"It doesn't bother you, does it?"

"Why would it bother me, Castle?" Beckett replied promptly, more out of habit and reflex than anything else she was feeling. "_What_ or _who _you choose to do in your personal life has nothing to do with me." Instantly her inner thoughts were screaming out _damn it, Kate, what are you saying?_

"Which, in a roundabout way, is your way of saying you _are _bothered." He accused in a teasing tone.

Silence.

"Kate?"

"Castle," she replied in a hushed tone, just barely above a whisper, "enjoy your date."

"I uh-"

Before he even had the chance to reply, she had hit the red button to end the call.

"Great job, Wall." she said to herself in mock congratulation, all the while feeling like a complete idiot. Four hours ago all she could think of was how much she needed him on that phone, and now here she was pushing him away and hanging up on him. Beckett was swiftly becoming an old pro at ruining her chances at happiness and reinforcing the emotional barrier that Castle was trying so hard to break through. They weren't an item, and they never could be if she kept throwing on the brakes every time he made any advances, but that didn't make her feel any less jealous, angry even, though she really had no right to be.

Walking out to living room, she tossed her phone to the couch before returning back to the bathroom, stripping off her clothing and hopping in the shower. Perhaps the rush of water would help cool off that pathetic, impulsive hot-head of hers before she did anything else stupid today.

Being in love was supposed to make you happy, or at least, that's what she'd always thought it would do. After meeting Castle, falling for Castle, and struggling to maintain some semblance of a relationship with Castle, she couldn't help but wonder if she was more broken than initially thought, and the only woman alive who felt miserable rather than happy when it came to love.

* * *

><p>When Kate emerged from the shower a short while later, mind and body both refreshed and back to a somewhat level-headed territory, she fluttered down to the couch, retrieved her phone and was met with not one, but three text message notifications. Her brow furrowed while she contemplated opening them. According to the time stamps, the first was sent five minutes after she ended her call with Castle, the remaining two sent within a minute of each other after that.<p>

_[Kate?]_

_[Kate, I'm sorry.]_

_[Marilyn is 75. Recent widower. I'll call you later, okay?]_

"Damn you, Castle," she addressed her phone, an aggravated smile forming in the bottom lip she held captive between her teeth, "Making me jealous of a senior citizen. Really?"

[Okay]

Theirs was such a complicated love.


	3. Chapter 3

**Safe**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

><p>Too much.<p>

It was all just too much for her.

How did she unravel this much so fast?

For weeks she had been fine. In fact, after the case with the stolen Fist, things had been starting to look up for her. She was smiling more, felt relaxed with herself for the first time in a long while. There was no question as to why, given how the past several weeks had gone down.

As much as she had fretted over it, and despite how she'd resigned herself to practically giving her blessing to the pair, Castle hadn't gone out with Serena after all. Serena left, and he stayed behind. Waiting for her— for Kate. They even had a burger date, her impromptu treat.

Then around Halloween, she found herself being entertained by Castle's wild ghost and demon theories regarding the McClaren House, and humored him with geeky Ghost Busters references. How could she resist? She couldn't. Not that face, not that voice. Not him. Not anymore.

The bank robbery at the end of October was a terrifying nightmare of it's own right, though. There was no doubt about that.

For a moment there, Kate had thought she'd lost him. After she'd held his hand, looked him square in the eye and promised to get him out whilst her eyes spoke so many things verbally unsaid...there went the C4 blast, and with it, she thought, the man she'd fallen in love with.

When the bank exploded, she felt as though her world had been shattered into just as many pieces of rubble that had blasted out into the street.

And yet, there he was, responding to her and calling out her name, waving one of his zip-tied hands when they finally made eye contact. As if she needed to be certain this was real, and that it wasn't a dream that he was sitting before her, alive and smiling, she reached out and grabbed the lapel of his jacket, running her thumb across the material, much like she had done to his hand earlier in the day. He was real, and sitting in awe of the gorgeous, toothy grin she was giving him that lit up the room around them. Both of them felt as though they were the only two in the hazy, smoke-filled building.

Beaming. Kate Beckett was beaming.

By all accounts, if there was a night for her mind to have dreamt up another horrific nightmare of death, his or her's, that night would have been it.

But she didn't.

Kate left Castle's home that night happy. _Happy_. Her heart was racing in her chest that night in bed not out of fear or anxiety, but out of love—their love— and instead of a nightmare, Kate experienced one of the most blissful nights of sleep she had had in years.

So why, after all this time, with all these happy and care-free moments, why had she transformed from the strong, resolute woman she used to be and into a broken, sobbing mess, incapable of pulling herself together on her own?

* * *

><p>The sniper case had certainly taken one hell of a toll on her right from the get-go.<p>

The first day of the investigation, she found herself subconsciously rubbing at the scar on her chest throughout the day the more they delved into the evidence at hand. The next day, she was collapsing on the sidewalk beside a New York Times vending machine as an unexpected whoop of a siren from an arriving police cruiser resonated within her ears. She sat there, stunned, legs splayed beneath her and hands clinging to the inanimate, green metal box as her body continued to shudder and her friends looked upon her in confusion and worry.

Kate vehemently denied all accusations that something was seriously wrong with her. She dismissed every concern about her well-being, trying her damnedest to not let their suspicious looks and furrowed brows get to her. It was bad enough that they had refused to even use the word "sniper", as though the word in itself would strike terror in her very soul.

Ridiculous. They were just plain ridiculous.

"I'm _fine_," she had asserted, her tone giving off a finality that this was the last she intended to speak on the matter, and, resigned, back to work they all went.

She had said that she was fine, but she was anything _but _fine. She was snapping at Castle when all he was trying to do was comfort her. But he couldn't comfort her. Not this time. Castle had no idea how to properly go about doing so. So he gave her space, and she took it and ran.

* * *

><p>The only thing she could think of to dull the pain on that second night was the contents of her alcohol cabinet. Something to take the edge off, since Dr. Burke had failed to provide her with anything adequate.<p>

She was a mess, and a ball of nerves, and the scotch she consumed had the opposite intended effect on her. She wasn't relaxed at all. Rather than calming her nerves, she reminisced back to an earlier time, when Castle had uncovered a new, solid lead in her mother's investigation; the catalyst that threw the reopened case back into motion.

Back then, she didn't think she could handle it, the reopening of her mother's case. Captain Montgomery had called her into his office to offer up some 'poor man's pain killer' in a flask when she was having a difficult time wrapping her head around the new revelations in the case.

Ironic, she thought, how fate would have it.

Montgomery had mentioned her mom's killer coming in and sucker punching her, and yet a year after that, he'd go and do the exact same thing to her, and meet the same untimely fate as Dick Coonan had, only difference being that she hadn't pulled the trigger herself this time.

She'd told Castle early on in their working relationship that reopening her mother's case would destroy her, and she was beginning to think she was right all along.

Little by little, this case, the sniper, and her mother's as well, was eating away at her, and she was helpless to stop it on her own.

* * *

><p>Kate Beckett could hold her own with liquor, under normal circumstances, anyway, but even she had her limits. In a drunken haze, anxiety started to kick in more, and with it, a whole new range of emotions and feelings.<p>

Something far worse than any of her previous nightmares had ever been.

She imagined herself being shot again, lying on the grass in the cemetery, feeling the burning ache in her chest, reliving the intensity and agony of it all. Castle was hovering above her, begging, pleading with her, and confessing his love before she faded to black...

Then her thoughts raced back to memories of seeing her mom, dead in an alleyway, only to fast-forward twelve years to Montgomery in the hangar, saturated in a pool of his own blood with the dead bodies of his killers, men who had intended to kill _her_, all around him.

The memories were unbearable. The pain was unbearable.

Her mind was reeling, her thoughts overwhelming. She started hallucinating gunshots. She could hear the same crack she had heard from the MK11 sniper rifle before Castle had tackled her to the ground. Her body went through all the motions of it all over again, only this time rather than Castle throwing his weight on her, she was thrashing to the floor by herself, knocking the small table away and causing the bottle of scotch and her drinking glass to fall with it, shattering on the hardwood flooring of her apartment.

Anxiety turned to panic, then to paranoia.

She scrambled to her feet, frantically looking out the windows before closing the shutters, blocking out what little light was seeping into the room and shutting out the outside world. Her eyes darted around the room wildly, and seeing her gun on the floor, she flung herself across the room to grab it, skittering in the shattered glass in the process. Moving again, she threw her back up against the wall, and felt a sharp pain arise in her right forearm, along with the sensation of a warm fluid dribbling down the length of it.

The injury was a mostly superficial bleeder, but becoming aware of the existence of the wound finally brought her back to her senses, back to some semblance of normalcy—and sanity.

She slumped down onto the couch, arm throbbing, limbs quivering, heart racing, breathing labored. She willed herself to breathe through the anxiety; deep breath in, long exhale out. Repeating this around a dozen times yielded favorable results. She was still shaky, still unnerved, but she was functional again.

She dragged herself off to the kitchen to clean herself up, then went to work at patching up her arm. She wanted to call Castle. She wanted his voice, his words, to work their magic on her. But there was no way she could do so without having to bring attention to her—

To her...what, exactly?

What had just happened here?

Another, what did Dr. Burke call it...hypervigilance episode?

Castle was right. She _was _spinning out.

* * *

><p>"Beckett!" Castle called to her, his voice echoing down Grace Point Tower's lobby as she bolted away from him.<p>

She didn't respond. She couldn't. On some level, his voice was merely white noise now, drowned out by her thoughts, anxiety and the commotion of everything else around them.

It was just too much to bear anymore.

"Kate!" Castle called again as she disappeared behind the door marked _"Employees Only"_. The only response was the door shutting firmly behind her, and the sound of the lock latching into place.

She couldn't get out of the lobby and through that door fast enough. All she could think of was that she desperately needed to run, to escape from that room filled with the chaos of panicked people, and especially from the terrified woman who was fortunate enough to escape the path of the sniper's bullet with her life.

_Why me? What did I do?_

_No! Don't let them take me outside! He's still out there!_

Emily Reese's distressed voice echoed inside her head, over and over again, coupled with the screams and pandemonium that ensued following her own shooting.

It made her skin crawl.

Memories flooded her consciousness and her chest burned with a phantom pain. The circular scar between her breasts soon felt as though it was burning a new hole into her sternum. Feeling like she couldn't breathe with it on, she clawed her way out of the leather jacket she was wearing and then relieved herself of the holstered gun and badge at her hip, dropping it all to the floor beneath her before falling back against the plain, white walls.

She stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavily, and let out a deep, anguished sob.

A broken, sobbing mess, incapable of pulling herself together on her own. That's what she'd become within the past 48 hours. And now, she had nothing left to save her from herself. All she could do was run.

* * *

><p>Kate used to wake up to escape her nightmares. Now it was as though every waking second was a nightmare in and of itself.<p>

For the fourth time this year, Kate thought that this was it. The end of Kate Beckett. Not a freezer, not a dirty bomb...she'd go by a bullet after all. It wasn't the same sniper as before, but this time, this one would succeed. Lee Travis, the damaged war vet, was standing over her, gun poised to shoot. There was no escape at this range. Her words wouldn't reach him. He was already too far gone to be saved.

Castle couldn't rewrite the ending of her story this time, either. A gunshot sounded, and it was over.

Only, it wasn't. Not for her.

Kate was unscathed, Lee Travis was down, and Esposito was standing on the building adjacent to her, rifle in hand.

The nightmare was over.

Castle later told her that she owed him about one hundred coffees. She silently disagreed. One hundred coffees wouldn't make up for the past six months. Coffee couldn't fix her lie about not remembering her shooting, the pain she caused him by pushing him away for the entire summer and how she was always shutting him out (quite literally at Grace Point Tower) when things became too much for her to handle on her own.

No. One hundred coffees wouldn't do it. Something had to change. _She _had to change.

"_I want to be more than I am."_

She was ready.

* * *

><p>When she got home from her appointment with Dr. Burke that evening, the first thing she did was call Castle and invite him over.<p>

"Hey," she greets him, opening the door to let him inside.

He looks nervous and unsure of himself, which seems oddly out of place. But then, she never invites him over like this. Especially not after something like what they just went through with the Lee Travis case.

"Come on in," she gestures him in, the bandage on her arm clearly visible to him for the first time.

He's about to ask about it until he sees her apartment in such disarray. Her home is usually immaculately clean, and now it looks like the living room had been ransacked.

She didn't bother cleaning up yet. For one, she hadn't had the time to yet, and two, it was her way of being open with him. Letting him see her. All of her. The turmoil she had been trying so hard to hide from him.

She walks over to the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of water while Castle silently takes in his surroundings. God only knows she needs to rehydrate after all the crying she had done in the past 24 hours. Kate was finding that she was constantly thirsty today.

Castle immediately takes note of the relatively large blood stain on one of her window curtains, and some red droplets that had stained into the couch below as well.

After what he had seen of her at the hotel, she felt that him seeing blood-spattered curtains in her home was insignificant in comparison.

If she were to ask, he'd beg to differ, though.

He turns around to her, looks down at her bandaged arm and then to her face and she sees the terror present in it. The horrible what-if's swirling around in his over-active imagination.

"I didn't cut myself on purpose, if that's what you're thinking," she tells him, holding up her arm to show him.

Castle wanders about in the living room, pondering over the curtain, the rearranged and toppled furniture. He hadn't even noticed the broken glass on the floor until it crunched under his feet when she spoke.

"What happened last night?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder at her, hands motioning towards the chaos.

"I think it's pretty straight-forward," she says matter-of-factly, shrugging her shoulders.

He's having trouble wrapping his head around how calm and nonchalant she is about this whole thing considering how badly he himself is freaking out on the inside.

"It would be if you'd answer the question."

"Hurricane Kate struck," she offers with a faint smile.

"Hurricane Kate was 2003."

"How do you even remember that?"

"Had to cancel a cruise that fall. Damn storm lasted forever."

"Aren't cruises more of a summer affair? Why would you go during hurricane season?"

"Stop dodging the question."

She lets out a heavy sigh, sets the bottle of water down on the coffee table and walks over beside him, kneeling down to pick something up from the pile of glass at and around his feet.

"Booze. Lots of booze," she says, holding out her hand out to him. "Not the greatest of my coping mechanisms, I must admit."

He retrieves from her palm the label to what was once adhered to a bottle of scotch. The adhesive has shattered glass still stuck to it.

"So you came home and hit the bottle—" he starts, in that characteristic theory-spinning, storyteller voice of his, only more serious, "— and your arm ends up bleeding all over your couch and curtains how, exactly?"

"I was a mess, Castle. Let's just...leave it at that."

He turns to her, mouth open and poised to speak, and then their eyes meet. Holding each other's gaze momentarily, the somber look in her eyes makes him want to gather her into his arms, though he doesn't dare move to do so.

"Please?" she adds, sensing he wasn't quite finished yet.

With that, his lips come back together. He resigns. For now, at least.

Moving past him, she grabs up her favorite pillow—the one with the UK flag—and takes a seat on the chaise lounger of her couch. With knees curled up, she hugs the pillow against her chest, head resting along the top of it.

She looks up at him, watching, trying to read his thoughts and hoping she hasn't freaked him out too much.

"I'll clean this up."

"Castle, don't worry about—"

"You just sit and relax. I'll make you some coffee. Want coffee?"

"Castle."

"Hang on, I'll get it."

He's nervous. So very, very nervous. Her blood is on her furniture, her apartment is thrashed, and he's in her kitchen desperately trying to make coffee. The one thing that would bring any sense of 'normal' to him in this situation.

She's freaked him out.

"I appreciate the help," she says, and he quirks his brow at her. "Really, I do. But that's not why I called you over here. Come. Sit."

When he just stares at her, she points to a chair, gestures with a nod of her head in it's direction.

"At least let me call in a professional cleaning for the couch and curtains."

He eyes her after he says it, waiting for a protest but it doesn't come. She just nods.

Mostly just to appease him. Calm him down a bit.

"That's more like it!" he croons and gives her a wide grin.

"I never said I was letting you pay for it," she quips, a bit of a hum to her voice as she sips from her water bottle. He groans in response.

"Fine, but I'm buying dinner," he declares, peering inside her refrigerator before adding, "Then I'm stocking your fridge."

* * *

><p>He ordered Chinese because it's her favorite, and Kate gets the feeling that he's trying to spoil her by ordering all of her favorites on the menu because he's afraid that she's going to shatter in front of him like the glass on the floor (which she finally cleaned up before the food arrived).<p>

She decides to wait until they've mostly finished eating before she brings up what she wanted to talk to him about.

"Castle."

He's slurping the last of his lo mein noodles into his mouth and hums in response.

"I have something I'd like to discuss with you, but I need you to promise me that you'll stay quiet, let me speak without interrupting. Without freaking out," she eyes him carefully, making sure she has his full attention. "Can you do that?"

"Listen. Don't talk. Try not to freak out. Do you realize who you're speaking to, Beckett?"

She sighs.

"Sorry, sorry. Yes, I can do that. Or, in the very least, make a strong effort to try."

Kate looks at him, sees the sincerity in his eyes and feels content with that answer. Now all that's left is to muster up the courage to start.

"Where do I even begin," she mutters, and Castle shifts in his seat, watching her. Probably stifling the urge to say something in response.

"I have PTSD," she says finally, then waits, looking him in the eye, trying to gauge a reaction.

He takes the look to mean something entirely different though. Damn his anxiousness.

"I didn't say anything. Well, not until now, anyways," he lets out an nervous chuckle. "Okay, shutting up now. Go on."

Kate sniffs a laugh at that, finds that she surprisingly feels more at ease with him talking than not talking. Weird.

"It took me a while to accept it. I think you saw it before I did, those first days back at the 12th. When I froze up."

Castle nods. Not in an I-told-you-so way, but just to show that he's being attentive. That he gets what she's talking about.

"I've been having nightmares since this summer. About being shot. Sometimes they get so bad, so vivid, I have trouble sleeping. Trouble coping with it all."

Now she's wishing she really hadn't told him not to speak. His silence is rather unsettling.

Fortunately, he disobeys her request again, rogue that he is.

"Is it memories from that day, or just being shot in general?"

This is why she asked him not to speak. So that she wouldn't have to lie to him again.

No. No more lying. The truth, Kate. He deserves the truth.

"Yes. Usually it's memories of that day. The bullet piercing my chest, everybody screaming, yelling my name..."

Castle is completely focused on her now, and she hates herself for not having the guts to just come out with it, but no. She can't do it. Not yet.

"Other times they escalate and take on a life of their own. Something far more horrific. Almost like an out-of-body experience. Seeing my dead corpse on a slab with Lanie looking over me in the morgue. You and the boys carrying my casket at my funeral. My dad sobbing at my grave, drowning in a bottle again."

Kate takes a deep breath, runs a hand down her face as she exhales.

"Does this happen often?" he asks, voice very quiet, subdued.

"Not every night, and not always so severe, but for a while there, it was really rough. Until..."

"...until?"

"I started calling you. When it got bad. I'd call you."

The realization strikes him hard, and she can see it in his eyes as he starts replaying all the times he's been woken up early for seemingly no reason by her. A text message. A silly phone call. Bantering about a fundraiser date with an elderly woman who won him in an auction.

"You contacted me when you had nightmares," he restates, as though needing it confirmed. To clarify that he heard correctly and isn't just hearing things.

"Yes."

"So all those times—"

"I had a nightmare."

"And you'd call me."

"I was broken, Castle. I'm still broken. I've been shattered glass for years, ever since my mom was killed. But you—" she pauses, smiles at him. "You've been helping me pick up the pieces. Put myself back together. Not just since this summer, since the first day we started working together. You've made things fun. Easier. You make me laugh, relax, forget how broken I am sometimes. And when the darkness creeps back into my life, you make it light again."

"Kate..."

"When my life's a nightmare, you make me feel safe again, Castle. You always have my back, even when I push you away."

"Always," he murmurs, and she gives him a smile that effectively melts his heart and makes it flutter at the same time.

"This case with Lee Travis really opened my eyes to some things. Made me see what's broken. What needs to be fixed. I think...I think I've finally found what I need to move forward. The right path. One that will help me mend, so I won't be that shattered glass anymore.

"I don't know how long it'll take or how many bumps in the road I'll hit along the way, but I'm trying. I'm breaking that wall down and picking up the pieces of myself, slowly but surely. I've lashed out at you, hurt you and treated you unfairly and yet you've stuck by me anyway..."

"Of course. I'm your partner," he says, quick to interrupt.

"Even still, I'm gonna make it up to you," Kate stands, walks in front of him, reaches out her hand to him.

"So what do you say, Castle. Can I get you a coffee? I hear I owe you about a hundred." She's smiling now. That full grin that lights up her face with such genuine happiness. The one that he hasn't seen in weeks.

God, he's missed that smile.

"I'd love one," he replies, grinning happily before he takes her hand and follows her to the kitchen for coffee 1 of 100.

* * *

><p>When Castle leaves her apartment later that night, he texts her the whole cab ride home.<p>

_[So...when do I get coffee #2?]_

[I think you mean #4]

_[Refills don't count, Kate.]_

[There's still 96 left. I don't know how you can possibly complain about this.]

_[You're not the only one who's a handful.]_

[Don't I know it.]

Kate's phone rings a couple minutes later.

"Castle?" she answers, a hum to her voice.

"Just got back to the loft. I miss you already."

"What?" she replies breathlessly, taken aback. "Wait, what is _that_?"

By 'that', she's referring to the loud ruckus she can hear blaring in the background. Castle groans and she can just picture the cringe that must be present on his face.

"_That_ would be the lovely melody of my Mother, three of her friends, four empty bottles of wine and our piano."

He lets out a long, moaning sigh and Kate can hear Martha in the background, _'Richard, Richard! Oh, come here darling! Sing with us!'_

She starts laughing, and Castle grumbles even louder on the other end of the line.

"So, _Richard,_ are you going to go sing with your dear mother?" she asks him in a sing-song voice before chuckling to herself.

"So not funny, Kate."

She can hear the sound of a door closing, then some shuffling.

"Hiding in your room?" It's more of an accusation than a question. "You're no fun."

"Last time I mentioned spending time with an older lady, I recall you becoming rather upset with me. Now you're practically throwing me at a room full of them. What gives?"

Kate briefly wonders if he's implying the elderly widow he went on a date with for his mother's fundraiser, or Serena Kaye. She opts to not ask for clarification.

"Just sounds like you're missing out on some good fun. But I suppose it's better you don't. We have work in the morning. No room for hangovers. Got to get to bed."

_We_, she says. _We have work_, not just her. Both of them. Castle grins to that.

"If it'd make you feel any better, I'd be more than happy to sing you a lullaby, Beckett."

Unbeknownst to him, she's already in bed. Has been since he left her apartment. The conversation with him has been enough to relax her, lull her to a sleepy state.

"Thanks but no thanks. No need," she yawns.

"You falling asleep on me, Detective?" he husks back.

"You wish, Castle."

He grins into his phone when he hears the line click off. So typical of her.

_[Sweet dreams, Kate.]_

"Mhm," she hums contentedly, snuggling under her blanket as she sends out her reply.

[Always do, on the nights I have these talks with you.]

No nightmares tonight.


End file.
